Friday, December 27, 2013

Fate brings them together.Fame & lies keep them apart. One truth remains...She's become the Paly High girl with
the most tragic story...At
17, Tally Landon just wants to graduate and leave for New York to pursue
ballet. Her best friend Marla convinces her to attend one last party--a college
party--where she can be among strangers and evade the whisperings about her
heartbreaking loss that follows her everywhere she goes. While at the party,
she meets Lincoln Presley, Stanford's famous baseball wonder and has a little
fun at his expense--when she lies about her age and who she really is--intent
on being someone else for the night and escaping her tragic story.
His only focus is baseball, but he can't forget the girl he saved on
Valentine's Day...At 22, Lincoln Presley's star is on the rise; he's about to finish at
Stanford and expected to be taken early in Major League Baseball's upcoming
draft. His cousin's party serves as a welcome distraction. But then, he sees
the girl from Valentine's Day he saved from that horrific car accident; and he
can't quite hide his disappointment when she appears to look right through him
and not remember him at all. He vows to learn her name at least before he
leaves. What's the harm in getting to know this girl? What's the worst that can
happen?
Fate soon tests these two star-crossed lovers in all kinds of ways...And yet, despite the lies being told to protect the other, and the
trappings of fame that continually separate them, and in lieu of the deception
by those they've come to trust the most; one truth remains.

This much is true.

This Much Is True is
a Best seller on Kindle in the following categories: Holiday Romance, Sports
Romance, Contemporary Romance, Women's Fiction Romance, Women's Fiction
Literary, Women's Fiction Psychological, Hot New Releases, Top Rated Sports
Romance, Top Rated Holiday Romance.

Author's note: THIS IS A STAND-ALONE NOVEL. Due to
strong language and sexual content, this book is not intended for readers under
the age of 18.

He
opens his eyes at my somewhat involuntary movements and tugs at my hair and
pulls me toward him. He gently kisses my forehead. His lips travel down the
side of my face and then reach the sensitive spot at my neck. I practically
melt at his subtle seduction at a soul level, while my body heats up under his
careful ministrations. Oh, God. Why is he doing this to me?

“We
used to have a ranch when I was about eight years old,” he says so softly that
I strain to hear him. “My dad liked to train wild horses. He always said it
just takes patience and time, and that you don’t tame a horse as much as you
come to understand it.”

“Am
I the wild horse in this scenario?” I ask faintly. My pulse races out of
control. I bury my face into the dampness of his shirt thoroughly embarrassed
by my unusual emotional breakdown. I catch my breath and hold it and will
myself to pull it together.

“I’m
not sure,” he says. “But you definitely need saving.”

“Does
that line work with all the girls you bring here?”

“I
don’t bring girls here.”

“Oh.”
I slide out of his arms and stand up, intent on achieving balance on a physical
level as well as an emotional one because for some inexplicable reason I
already know that it’s vital to initiate some kind of distance from this guy.
He scares me on some deep cosmic level because I like him too much
already, and, as it is, I have more than enough fears to battle on a daily
basis. “I should go.”

“What
if you didn’t? Go?” Linc pauses for a full minute and seems to just draw me in
with his kind face.

He’s
good-looking.At a detrimental level. The kind of guy you would be seen
in public with and most girls would cattily be saying: “Why her? Why did
he choose her?” I catch my lower lip between my teeth, embarrassed at
the calculating assumptions I’ve made about him in such a short amount of time.
We’ve gone from the prospect of a one-night stand to a relationship. The first
I often employ, and the second I will never entertain. Ever.

It dawns on me that I’ve
been staring at him again. His eyes are incredible, and I get lost in them
again because there’s a part of me that clearly wants to jump into the alluring
deep end with him and another part of me that uncharacteristically hesitates mightily.
I can’t look away from him. It’s disconcerting and enthralling at the
same time.

I take in air in the faint
hope of clearing away all these wayward thoughts of him. Then I absently wipe
at my face with an embarrassed hand wave in the next. I’m supposed to be
Holly—perfect and sweet, not Tally—bitchy and on edge. What am I
doing here? And I cried in front of him. I haven’t cried since the
day we buried Holly.

“I
should go.” I attempt to smile and extend my arm around the great room.“Really.
This has been…illuminating.

He
raises an eyebrow, surprised by my exceptional vocabulary, perhaps.

Me,
too.

He
reaches for my hand and pulls me to him. I experience this inevitable solace as
his arms go around me and hold me there.

I drink
too much...coffee, not enough water. I swear too much for God and my mother,
and I slip these into my fiction. Sorry.

I'm
impatient, a perfectionist, a wordsmith, a dreamer, which ends up being good
and bad. I'm a workaholic; ask my "fam-dam-ily".

I've
written four novels in as many years: "When I See You, "Not To
Us", Seeing Julia"as
well as my latest release "This Much Is True" (which hit #1 on Amazon best
seller lists for Sports Romance, Holiday Romance within a week of its release). Competitive;
much, KO?
Oh yes.